


Mental Breaks

by Sinclaironfire



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath of Ford's duel, Altered Mental States, Canon-Typical Violence, Ford is a broken man, Ford is a sick man, How do you help a broken mind?, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Milla cares, Oleander cares, Psychological Trauma, Sasha cares, Truman cares, he needs help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinclaironfire/pseuds/Sinclaironfire
Summary: The aftermath of the duel that left Ford with a shattered mind





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been years since I was in the fandom but with psychonauts 2 coming out, I'm back in it. Have a rambling angsty piece on Ford to celebrate. Fair warning, I'm just rambling so canon may have gone out the window.

Despite what the leaflets and the magazines will advertise, being a Psychonaut is not all glitz and glamour. It’s a dangerous job with dangerous enemies and more often than not, when agents aren’t careful, they die.

Some are lucky and they go quickly. There isn’t pain or prolonged suffering, it’s like extinguishing a candle and they’re gone. Some are not so lucky and the horror that they undergo soon becomes the reason why agents are placed into teams or why new protocols are created.

So that more Psychonauts don’t die.

Ford wishes that it wasn’t so but as it usually is with such an organization like the Psychonauts, major changes don’t happen until something bad happens.

Agents having partners wasn’t mandatory until Agent Quiver was left braindead in a ditch.

They didn’t start having agents give written reports until Agents Nick and Ash’s combined psychic trauma exploded while giving their mental report to their superior. The trauma killed them both and the shockwave left their superior, a good man, in a condition that could best be described as demented. He died the following year.

And then there was him: Agent Ford.

A Psychic Grandmaster.

A living breathing legend.

A man who could calm the most chaotic of minds!

The man who now was confined to an underground bunker or else run the risk of having his mind go to ruin. The psychic duel that left him in such a state, a now thoroughly covered up event, was the reason why agents now had to go psychic evaluations four times a year. He wishes that it was different. He wishes that he could offer insight into the duel or to who left him nearly dead or what the villains’ cruel purpose was but it’s all gone from his mind.

There have been agents who have made attempts to piece together his damage psyche. Nein in particular had made valiant efforts to tame and subdue the mess but it was too much. Between his multiple personalities, the insane censors running amok, the instability of it all….an agent could get lost or worse in his mind.

It was strange though, truly strange. After the duel, he looked fine. Unconscious but fine. There weren’t any signs of damage, there wasn’t a single thing that appeared to be wrong with him. However, as soon as he returned to headquarters did all break loose. His control was gone and his fellow agents paid the price for it. He didn’t know who he was or what he was.

A deranged psychic was a dangerous psychic.

And with powers like his, Ford was as dangerous as they came.

There were three agents who were left in temporary comas, one unlucky intern became a vegetable, Oleander had his shoulder dislocated from the shockwave, Milla suffered a broken leg, and Sasha was nearly blinded.

It was of little surprise to anyone that he was stripped of his position and rank the next day. After all, his powers left uncheck were something to be feared. People could get hurt or killed. Ah but what to do about a psychic whose powers couldn’t be contained? His mind was too dangerous to go into and sealed. He still carried confidential information of the Psychonauts and their agents. He knew too much. He knew too many secrets.

Quietly, through the ranks and private minds, an unconventional method started to grow. A psychic with his powers was largely immune to their containment techniques which left one option: kill him.

As the old saying went, cut off the head and the body will die. Well, in Ford’s case, his once trusted friends, co-workers, and agents were more interested in seeing his brain die. He heard of their plan, the less trained agents were bad at keeping such thoughts private, at how better it would be for everyone if his corrupted mind finally perished. 

Privately, on his bad days, Ford agreed.

Publicly, the same could not be said for Milla, Oleander, and Sasha.

Milla, who never had a negative thing to say about anyone, was filled with vitriol over the mere suggestion of killing Ford. Oleander would scream and shout at such insubordination with the slightest provocation. And then there was Sasha. Cool, calm, never one to let his feelings get the better of him Sasha. He wrangled Milla and Oleander. He spoke of thinking through this terrible issue, keeping a cool mind, and told them that calmer minds would prevail. He organized a meeting, he got everyone in one place and presented the case to protect Ford and the agency. The speech was everything that Ford expected from Sasha. It was direct, it pointed out the flaws in killing Ford, how much the agency had to lose and how an agent like Ford came in once in a blue moon.

It was a brilliant speech but the hastily assembled board to deal with such a case like his wasn’t interested in brilliant speeches. Where Sasha, Milla, and Oleander saw Ford as a friend, an ally, and now someone to protect, the board saw a highly unstable potential threat and liability waiting to blow up in their face.

“You have to understand,” the head of the board said in a manner as though he was talking to school children, “This goes beyond your expertise. This is for the best.”

For Ford, it was his death knell. He handled it well although he wasn’t aware of what was going on at the time. Too heavily sedated, he didn’t break down and cry. He didn’t lash out or demand justice. Nope. Ford sat in his spot and accepted it with quiet sadness.

Sasha didn’t handle it nearly as well.

The usually emotionless agent leapt across the conference room table. He fought everyone without his psychic powers. It took Milla, Oleander, Ford, and seven other agents to restrain him. That fight would go down as legendary. It would also go down as the single moment that Sasha Nein lost his cool.

Between the fight and the board members left black and blue, it became increasingly clear that killing Ford would not help anyone and would sow discontent among the agency. It was a slippery slope. If one agent was too dangerous to keep alive then how long would it be before others would share his fate? The fear that was instilled combined with Sasha, Milla, and Oleander’s efforts kept Ford alive.

The agency relented. Instead of losing his life, Ford lost everything else.

He couldn’t stay in major populated areas. He couldn’t go on missions. He didn’t even have the sanctuary of his own mind to retreat into anymore. What to do with a psychic that couldn’t handle his own thoughts? Who didn’t know who he was anymore?

It was Oleander who came up with the summer camp idea. As he, Milla, and Sasha ran it, the camp was far enough away from civilization that he wouldn’t harm anyone.

“But what about the children?” Milla asked. “Young psychics are easily influenced.”

“The camp runs for eight weeks in the summer,” Oleander defended. “And I’ve got a bunker that Ford can stay in.”

“But confinement?” Milla shook her head.

“Who says that he has to stay in confinement?” countered Sasha. “I’ve been doing some digging both literally and figuratively. There is a large deposit of psitanium. It should be more than enough to keep Ford sane.”

“Do you think so, darling?”

At that, Sasha didn’t know but faced between having Ford locked away in an insane asylum or the agency trying to kill him again, it was a risk that he was willing to take.

 

After some quick thinking, smooth talking, and general spying, aided by Ford’s replacement, Truman Zanotto, Ford was safely brought to Camp Whispering Rock. Still sedated, it took hours for Ford to come out of it. While his mind slowly coming together, babbling incoherently, it was an incredibly sad scene.

In the bunker with the camp counselors, Truman, a man who never wore his emotions on his sleeve, spoke in a broken voice. “He used to train me to levitate…” Truman sighed heavily. “God, what a mess.”

“Thank you for helping, sir,” said Milla. “We know that doing this was a risk.”

“He was my mentor. He deserves to be safe.”

“We’ll send you updates on his condition, sir,” saluted Oleander.

“If it’s alright with you three, I’d like to see Ford from time to time. To make sure that he’s adjusting alright.”

“I do not believe that would be wise,” answered Sasha. “You sir are a high target as is Agent Ford. To have you both in here at the same time would be tempting to enemies of our agency.”

“Camp Whispering Rock is one of the safest institutions that we have! I’m sending Lili here this summer. I’ll keep a low cover. If anyone does see me, all they will see is a concerned parent checking up on his darling angel. I’ve already planned weekend visits! Lili will love it!”

 

Lili as fate would have it, would not love her father’s weekend visits. Truman was a loving but overbearing father. He doted on his little angel but his tendencies were stifling. When Lili threw the inevitable fit at being babied, Truman would disappear to the bunker below to visit his old mentor. It took a month but after confinement Ford was somewhat back to his normal self. He recognized his surroundings but he didn’t speak much. When Truman sat down with him and spoke to him about the agency and the day to day operations, he seemed to be aware of what was going on.

But then sometimes, his mind would be gone and a quiet and still man would be in his place.

It was difficult to tell which Ford would show up. As far as the Psychonauts knew there was an admiral Ford, a cook Ford, a ranger Ford and a host of others that would show up as they pleased. Then one day, as Oleander was preparing another round of basic training, Sasha went to go check up on Ford. The explosions did have a way of rattling the older man. But when he descended to the bunker, a Psi-blast nicked him. The blast was powerful but the aim was off. Sasha barely had time to recover before another one came barreling down onto him. Running out of the way, Sasha’s mind was livid with anger. How dare anyone attack him in his camp and – oh god Ford! He was alone and he couldn’t defend himself and – another psi-blast not only interrupted his thinking but completely knocked him down.

The intruder stepped over him and surprisingly, did not kill him. Instead, he scolded him.

“SASHA! I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?”

The man that stood before him was not the addled-mind former psychonaut that months ago the agency contemplated killing. He was full of life and vigor. Sasha was stunned into silence.

“Agent Ford?”

“No time to talk, Sasha! This place isn’t safe! I’m on the tail of a dangerous criminal and…and…” Ford saw the bunker. He sensed the minds of new psychics around him. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Whispering Rock, sir. How much do you remember?”

“Bits and pieces. Not much really…did you, did you try to strangle someone, Sasha?”

Sasha blushed. “I may have done something of that nature.”

Ford laughed long and hard but before long his laughter turned to anguish. Despair crashed around him. “I’ve lost my mind, Sasha. I’ve lost it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something quite beautiful about killing off characters. Also, sorry for killing off Ford. From the bottom of my heart, let me say this: My bad.

As Ford would come to find out in later years, prolonged psitanium exposure wouldn’t keep his deteriorating mental condition at bay. When the mind went, the rest of the body was sure to follow.

The realization was bitter.

Oh so completely bitter.

He guessed that sooner or later he should have seen it coming. After all, there were moments, still painful moments where he would relive that scene – that damn duel – where his life was ruined. No, no his life wasn’t ruined. He still had his agents. Truman still trusted him. And there was Razputin who held him in high regard. At least in this part of the world, he was still Ford Cruller.

For the moment it seemed.

And then the next moment, while he stood in the bunker, a thought would pass through his mind that there was a mess in the camp hall and someone would have to clean it up. Or that the seas were rough and he needed to tie everything down before the storm hit.

The moments were sparse.

He hoped that they were just a fluke but his hope was for nothing. The moments increased in frequency. The clear line of thought he possessed was derailed. Everything became foggy. Even his multiple personalities’ thoughts were muddled.

His brain was dying.

Whether it was from age or the psitanium or the damage done by the duel, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was dying.

In the face of death, Ford wished he knew what to do. But what could be done for a dying brain? There wasn’t a miracle cure to be had. There was a lot that could be done to stop trauma and mental anguish but for death?

There was nothing to be had.

Ford didn’t rage against the world for the unfair hand that was dealt to him. He didn’t gather his friends or agents for one last hurrah. Instead, the old man who once led the Psychonauts into a golden age and had the highest record for missions completed without injury or casualty, had decided that he was going to face his death alone.

Pulling his memories and mind together, he wrote a very nice letter for each of the Psychonauts whom he was proud to know. He could have waxed poetic about their character and how proud he was of each of them. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were all destined for greatness and hopefully had the sense to avoid the fate that was now his and his alone.

Ford sensed death hovering him. The grim specter, he guessed must have been waiting for this moment for some time. Delayed by friends’ valiant efforts, sheer luck, and the motherlode of all psitanium, Ford had evaded death’s cold grip. But now, in the face of his mind dying, Ford in some strange way had come to accept it.

His body, sensing the end, slowed the effort to stay up and running. Tremors shook his body. His sight was blurry. His body became as broken as his psyche.

Ford knew it was the end.

He set out the letters one by one in a neat fashion and then retired to his cot. Ford took a final took at the sanctuary that kept him sane for years and was also his prison and he went to sleep.

He never woke up.


End file.
